Bernie and I were shooting and uploading our first Instagram post dedicated to self love and acceptance.

To start us off, I was the model, a position I'd been nervous to accept because of how it might feel to fall back into a role that held such negative memories for me.

Fortunately, the shoot was casual. We were at Bernie's house in Philadelphia, I was pacing the sidewalk outside of her cute little aesthetic house while she snapped photos and we talked.

Bernie made me a pale blue summer suit. The shorts were high waist and the blazer had short sleeves. Underneath was a white lace crop top which did nothing to hide my nipples.

But that was part of the jig. Free the nipple. It'd been my idea to create something a bit more daring, something that allowed me to feel some control over what people saw of me.

Choice made all the difference.

I balanced on the curb, reaching up and grabbing a leaf off the tree as I walked.

"We need a name for this campaign," Bernie said, the shutter button going off on her phone every few seconds.

She was perched on her front door step, the awning shaded her from afternoon sun.

"It'll be hard to come up with something unique," I mused. "Something no one's used before."

"Mmm. How often are we doing this too? Because I need at least a week to come up with new outfits."

"Is that it?" I asked, looking straight at her when she snapped a photo. "We could do it every two weeks if that makes it easier. Once a month even."

"Every two weeks could work," she said, standing up and shooting from different angles. "We should get a few models lined up in advance too. I feel like this campaign will be a game changer. Custom outfits, diversity, stories. It'll be incredible. Nattie wants to be a model."

"So she should be," I said. "She's a warrior. Considering her age, she's overcome so much."

"I know," Bernie said, smiling to herself. "I'm thinking about doing her an off the shoulder gown with a corset in the torso and a thigh slit up the leg. It has to be jewel tones. An emerald would suit her skin tone so well."

"Sounds like a ball dress," I thought aloud.

"Yeah, I want to showcase my range," Bernie explained, taking a break to swipe through the photos she'd captured. "I can do casual clothes, street wear, wedding, ball, the whole lot."

"You're the boss," I said, shredding a leaf between my fingers. "I like that idea. It shows people what you have to offer."

"These photos are perfect," she said. "You're gorgeous. The nipple is subtle enough for Instagram but loud enough to make a statement."

"Can I have a look?"

She handed me the phone and I swiped through the candid photos. Candid to an extent. The outfit was beautiful and my hair was blowing out behind me in waves. The shorts stretched on my hips and I zoomed in, looking at the pull.

This was the heaviest I'd been since I left rehab and although I was being health conscious and sensible with my eating choices, the size of my legs made my stomach turn a little.

"If you're thinking what I think you're thinking," Bernie said. "Stop it. We're not editing the photos and there's no reason to. Your legs are perfecto."

I didn't respond, I was too busy thinking back on pep talks that had gotten me through seven months of rehab.

"Would you tell Nattie she needs to lose weight?"

My head snapped towards Bernie. "No."

"Good. Because she's bigger than you and she's muy bien." Bernie gave her fingers a chef kiss and threw them in the air. "Thick thighs, big hips, big bums, all the rage right now. Look, I can't speak for the entire population, but who doesn't love to watch a little jiggle when a girl is walking down the road, feels? Ten confinza, chica, eres una comida enters."

Bernie tended to get passionate in Spanish. Amalia was giving me brief lessons at home over dinner and breakfast but I'd learned a lot from Bernie.

So I knew she'd told me to gain some confidence in there somewhere.

"Ah Berns," I put an arm around her shoulder. "I love you."

"Yo también te quiero."

Later that afternoon, after I'd had a shower, I sat on the bathroom floor looking at my legs.

The photo wouldn't stop plaguing me. What would the vultures online say about it when it went live. What would the comments look like?

Jaw clenched tight, I stared at my flesh, a concoction of emotion warring within me.

Anger, desperation, heartbreak.

Anger because I felt like this toward myself.

Desperation to change those thoughts. Or change me. It was hard to tell what I wanted more.

Heartbreak because once again, I was failing to love myself and that was a different sort of broken relationship.

Perhaps I could just purge a few meals over the next week. I wouldn't do it for long. Only until I was satisfied with my weight again.

I knew how far not to go now. I wouldn't have to let it get bad again.

That's what I said last time.

I can control it this time. A purge week and I'll be a few pounds lighter. That's all I need.

"Abby," Amalia sang from somewhere in the apartment. "I'm home. You in? Nope not in her room."

My hands were trembling as I listened to her chatter to herself, her voice getting distant and her footsteps pacing the apartment.

Her name was forming on my lips, I wanted to call out and beg for her help, to admit that my own mind was a danger and I needed to be stopped.

But as much as I wanted to be stopped, I didn't want to be stopped. I was ashamed and humiliated, desperate to be thinner. I so badly wanted to be a shape that I wasn't born to be. Mom gave me hips and thighs and I wanted to love them but all I saw was the wrong size.

You're the wrong size. You're too big. You don't belong here.

Where?

Anywhere.

"Amalia," I whispered, my mouth barely opening because my own heart and mind were at a war against themselves.

Asking for help was the best thing I could do. It was hard, my willpower waived but I had to tell someone.

"Amalia," I shouted louder, flicking the lock on the door.

It swung open not a moment later and she stood at the threshold, alarmed at the sight of me sobbing on the floor.

"Abby?"

"I want to—" I stammered and looked at the toilet. "I feel— I'm—"

She sunk down and pulled me into her arms, not speaking, not dosing me up with comments about how I'm perfect and I don't need to lose weight.

Somehow she knew those words wouldn't make a difference right now because I already knew that that's how she felt. In fact, there wasn't a lot she could tell me at all right now, holding me was the best she could offer.

Lending me her strength made more difference than I was expecting.

"Don't think this makes you weak, Abby," she said, squeezing me, our heads pressed together. "You called out for me. You called out. That's so damn strong."

I cried harder, clutching my sides. I don't know how long we sat there, it felt like hours, but Amalia never left.

Eventually, Max appeared at the threshold, looking both of us over. I'd recovered from the tears and found myself content on sitting in the quiet with my friend.

Max looked between us, concern forming and then his eyes widened as he took in Amelia's spot beside the toilet. I hadn't noticed earlier, but she'd squeezed herself between me and the toilet.

"Are you pregnant?"

Amalia blinked. "Max, come on mi amor, no."

My brother's face fell for a split second.

I wasn't sure whether to be glad or not that his first conclusion was about Amalia, rather than being concerned for me. I knew he cared though, even if it didn't occur to him that I was on the brink of a relapse.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and leaned against the door frame. "What's going on then?"

"Hang on," I said, sitting up straighter. "Are we just going to slide past the fact that you thought Amalia was pregnant? Is that possible? Are you trying?"

Max turned a light shade of red and Amalia sighed. "No."

"It was just," Max started, looking at the floor. "A whoops."

Deciding that I didn't need the details on this 'whoops', I stood up, my butt was numb and my legs stiff. Amalia and Max followed me into the kitchen where I switched on the kettle to brew a herbal tea.

"You doing okay?" Max asked, leaning on the kitchen bench.

Finding the words to explain what was going on in my head was almost impossible. The city moved outside below and I stared out of the kitchen window, exhaling a long pent up breath of unsaid feelings.

"I don't know how to settle, Max."

There was a beat of silence. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know," I murmured. "I just. . . I want to feel settled, like I'm at home. I thought that was in California with Flynn and then I thought it was here, helping Bernie. But I still feel. . . like I'm drifting. I don't. . . ugh, I don't know. I'm happy but I'm just. . ."

"I think I get it," he said and I looked at him. "Well, I don't get it but I understand what you're saying."

Amalia gave me a sad smile from where she sat at the breakfast bar.

"I love working with Berne's and being part of building up people who struggle with their image. I love it but the further I get from the. . . the spotlight, the further I want to go. I just want. . . quiet."

"You want a simple life," Amalia said with a tone that suggested she knew what I meant. Max must have heard it too because he watched her, mild distress in his expression.

"I'm a simple life kind of girl," she said, reaching across and taking Max's hand. "Which makes it so easy to be with you, Max. Because while your life comes with a little bit of chaos, we want the same things. Privacy, space, minimalism. It's a good balance and you're worth the occasional paparazzi shot in the tabloids or fan girls asking for a photo. This is the life I choose because I choose you."

She doesn't even know that she basically accepted Max's impending proposal.

His face was the epitome of love as he stared at her, no doubt visualising getting down on one knee and putting a ring on her finger as soon as possible.

"Anyway," Amalia said, breaking his stare with a smile. "You're entitled to a private, simple life, Abby."

"Bernie wants me to be a participating partner when she starts her own line, I think she wants me to feel credited for my part but I don't want that. I want to be a silent investor, I want to watch her grow and offer her advice and admire her designs and upload gorgeous photos online. But that's it. I just don't think I can be in this world anymore."

Max, who had finally torn his stare away from Amalia, quirked his brows. "Never imagined a day where you wouldn't want to be a big name."

"Me either," I admitted. "I feel so indecisive and—"

"You can be as indecisive as you want," Amalia said. "You're figuring things out right now and that's good. Do whatever that requires."

"It's bordering on impulsive and erratic."

Amalia laughed.

"I kind of want to go and see mom and dad."

Max rapped his knuckles on the countertop and stretched his arms above his head. "Dad will be pumped if you go home for a weekend. You'll have to plan it well though, he's travelling for the season now."

"Do you remember when he'd take us to games when we were little and we wore the head set, the pretend one that wasn't connected to anything and we ran around shouting orders at no one."

Max grinned. "You were bossy as hell."

I laughed. "It used to piss me off so much when I'd ask for a Capri Sun and no one would appear with one."

"Yeah or there would be Lucas hiding behind the bench seats while he whispered curse words into his head set."

My face hurt from laughing so hard. "He'd sit there and be like psst, fat ass crack in jersey 27 needs an inhaler, over."

Max and I soundlessly laughed so hard we had tears in our eyes while we remembered all of the nonsense we got up to on the field when we were children. There was never a dull moment, that's for sure.

"I might be over due attending a game," I said, thinking aloud. "I wonder if he'll give me a proper head set now that I'm older."

"It's worth a shot," Max said, standing behind Amalia. He rested his chin on her head.

I'd missed dad, and mom. As much as I loved it here, I wanted to spend more time with them. Even if that meant travelling back and forth. After all, those were two people I knew would never hesitate to open their arms and welcome me home. That was something I needed to appreciate more because not everyone had so much warmth waiting for them with open arms.